Aunt Erma

When I stepped out of the car, Aunt Erma called, “Hi, Joanie.” She’s the only one who still calls me by my childhood name. It is her special name for me and I like it – from her.
Maybe because she is my other mother.
My father is close to his identical twin brother, so I ended up with a second set of parents: Uncle Bert and Aunt Erma. In the summer, we camped out under a tent of my mom’s blankets stretched over the clotheslines and under the lilac arbor in Uncle Bert’s front yard using Aunt Erma’s quilts.
Both set of parents reinforced the way that we children were to behave, talk, dress and act. Aunt Erma or Mom, either one – It did not matter – reminded us that it was mean to call someone “stupid.” My uncle or my dad had as much claim to the boys’ (and girls’) time when it was time to work in the hay fields. All of us remember the day our twin dads took us to a 40-acre field and told us to pull up the stalks of golden rod. When I finished with each bundle of 100 stalks and reported back, I was just as likely to be told to bring in another 100 by Uncle Bert as I was told by Dad. Years later, when I asked, “why did we do that?”
My mother laughed, “You all have come back and asked that question. It just needed to be cleared of the weed, that’s all.”
Time with my mother was exact and precise. We were early to every appointment. At Aunt Erma’s house time was elusive. She set her kitchen clock 20 minute ahead and then told everyone, “Oh I set that clock ahead so I will get to places on time.” The clock was never quite far enough ahead to achieve the goal though.
Both mothers went to work. My mom brushed up on her typing, took the state test for competency and went to work at the county offices typing up reports. It was a long drive to her office. I did not see where she worked until I was married with children.
It was also a long drive to the cosmetology college where Aunt Erma learned to be a beautician, but she took me, my sisters and cousin there for hair cuts and her first perms. After my initiation into the world of chemicals and end papers, I spent the rest of the day twirling in the chair and watching my aunt work.
When she finished her requisite college hours, she went to work, without leaving home. Uncle Bert remodeled a spare room in their old farm house into a beauty salon.
After he put up sheetrock, finished the nail holes, and installed a beautician’s sink, he painted it a cheerful flamingo pink. (Aunt Erma’s advertising slogan, “We curl up and dye for you.” tickled my childhood funny bone for years.) I always knew where she worked and what she did. She was only a room away from where we cousins played, worked and fussed at each other.
Aunt Erma was the mom who made the decorated cakes saying, “You’re special.” That ability I wish I had developed. Since I didn’t: With the talent I have. I say, Aunt Erma, you are special to me.